Write
by LoveIsSweetMisery
Summary: A dear John letter from Sherlock Holmes to Doctor John Watson. Implied character death/slash/ a case of the weepies. Rated T for sadness! ONE SHOT


**Write...**

**Dearest fan ficcers this is my second, Sherlock fan fic and I have decided to attempt the medium of letter writing. It's in Sherlock's POV (which is hard btw) and is written to John Watson.**

**One shot**

**Warning: Character death, drug use and slash ladies and gents!**

Dear John,

I believe that hindsight has become a skill which I have unwillingly mastered over the three months since you have departed from my life. This new endeavour, in which my mind has become rather indulgent in, is both useless and counterproductive and yet still logic has failed to rid me of this ailment. I have found that even crafting and deciphering the mysteries which can be crafted and deciphered in our flat has not distracted myself from the matter of adapting to being without a flat mate and dare I say it- a friend.

Lestrade has taken to coming to the flat, unannounced and without purpose, with vain attempts to coax me into conversation and eating but so far he has left through exasperation before I have spoken a word to him. I believe my brother has sent him, because he like many, he is in full knowledge that I shall never be near him again, and he shall forever remain an unofficially labelled enemy of me. I suspect Lestrade has agreed to such a task because he himself is escaping from his wife's affair so apparent from the new clothes in which he has adorned himself with though I presume if I questioned him with this he would deny it fiercely.

Even Mrs Hudson, who continues to take those damn soothers, has taken to trying to talk about your last moments, but she soon leaves me to my darkness. 221B Baker Street, has suffered from your absence, and I believe that this month's rent has risen considerably through the damage I have inflicted on the flat. The only place which has since remained intact is your old bedroom which sits untouched by myself or others. There has been talk of removing your things, and discarding those items without use, but they have been short lived talks.

A need for wishing things has also become a habit I soon hope to dispose of. I have heard that people do this often in times of grief, the five stages in which I have been told I shall go through. Denial is supposedly the first, and sounds the most welcoming of them all. It is also the one in which my logic and brain cannot comprehend, and therefore I only suffered this for a moment and then it went as quickly as it entered. Part of me wishes that I could say the same thing for anger, but the criminal convictions which I narrowly avoided, begs to differ. Bargaining I have been informed, is the stage in which I am in, and is the explanation of my new found curiosity in the occult and religious beliefs.

Memories are a troublesome thing which sometimes I am tempted to erase and others I hold onto though their value is purely a sentimental in the case. They have constructed the moments before, and immediately after our last meeting, though to know them can in no way prevent what has happened, and yet still my mind has come up with many a possibility in which I could have prevented it. If you only had my mind, or did not possess the weakness of selflessness you could have saved yourself, and it would be yourself in this situation and I would be in the position in which you find yourself.

Days are spent without speaking or human contact and I have found that this of elevated importance than previous occasions. Before our first encounter at St Bart's I had adapted myself to such days, and I almost felt that days without social duties were of more value than those spent needlessly socializing with those who were of no benefit to myself. I have since found myself craving

Drugs are a welcome escape from thoughts, and often in my darkest days they are the only ways in which someone with such a complex mind can survive. The highs do not last as long as they used to, and often I find that they are plagued with hallucinations that force myself into a screaming wreck on the floor. I find that a day without their use is a day in which I am pain, and I fear that my once hobby is now as big of an addiction as my escape from boredom and the sweet taste of satisfying my never ending curiosity.

I have been told, and then ordered to seek medical and psychiatric help. It was first a thought of my brothers, then a plausible suggestion and before I was even planning my escape Anthea picked me up and with a struggle I found myself in the care of St Bart's psychiatric department.

I have written you this letter because I have been told that it shall help in what my therapist unoriginally and incorrectly names as the 'healing process'. The way in which he says it suggests that I am indeed broken by your lack of presence but I dislike the patronising tone which he has taken to addressing me with.

Therefore, I am inclined to admit that I miss having you beside me, admiring my work and being a rather adapt replacement for my skull. Mrs Hudson has still not returned this, though I am under the impression that she was inclined to after the events of the pool. If I could request that you would come back, then I would do so, but as all are aware such a feat is not possible.

I hope that wherever you have found yourself that you are in the comfort which others said you could have not possibly been in your final days. I hope also that one day I shall join you, though all logic, tells me that our final encounter will be forever the moment that I pressed the trigger. For that, I am sincerely sorry.

I am not a man who wishes to disclose my weaknesses and once this letter has been finished I intend to seal it, and then remove it from my life along with all memories of you-Doctor John Watson. This is nothing against yourself and if I were in your position I would take this as a twisted compliment. I hope that if one day I forget you, I can become what I was before I met you, content in a hollow fashion. I have sworn to myself that I shall not compromise my previous promises to myself not to become close to another human, and instead remain as solitary as possible, and only use people purely for informative purposes. A connection such as we had, was a mistake, and yet I inexplicably find myself not regretting knowing you.

Goodbye my friend,

SH

**Thank you for reading :)**

**LoveIsSweetMisery**


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